


Between Phoenix Flames

by sunstarunicorn



Series: It's a Magical Flashpoint [8]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Flashpoint (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU of Between Heartbeats, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-05 02:22:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10295375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunstarunicorn/pseuds/sunstarunicorn
Summary: Summer’s coming to an end and Ed Lane’s planning to go on vacation.  Before he can leave, a man with a grudge starts shooting at City Hall.  When Tomasić demands Lane’s life, Alanna sneaks out of a locked down SRU and takes to the sky to protect her family.  AU of Between Heartbeats





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> spoilers for 01x13: Between Heartbeats. Pretty much the entire episode. And I am using dialogue from the episode. This story is the eighth in the Magical Flashpoint series. It follows “Family Heritage”.
> 
> Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own _Flashpoint_ , _Harry Potter_ , _Narnia_ , or _Merlin_.

The figure was perched on top of a building, wielding a rifle. He was camouflaged with a homemade ghillie suit; his rifle was camouflaged as well. He peered through his scope at two men he hated, hated with a vengeance. Their companions and those they had come to aid, he did not care about, except as a means to get his target. He kept his voice even, as he spoke to one of them; the man who had given the order all those months ago. The man who, even now that he had made it clear what he was capable of, was refusing to give him the murderer who had taken _everything_ from the young sniper. He would not permit the murderer to escape, no matter what he had to do; who he had to kill.

Angry, he demanded, “Ed Lane. It’s Ed Lane I want.”

The man he spoke with, the weak man who hid behind others to do his bidding, looked to his companion. His words were calm, but the sniper knew the coward would not give him Lane. “Okay, okay. Let me start working on that.”

The sniper laughed at that, sneering, “Working on that?”

“Well, yeah, he’s out of range,” the coward lied, “I-I got to track him down.”

Angry, the sniper countered, “He’s standing next to you.” If the coward would not give him Lane… In his native Croatian, the sniper murmured, **“May God forgive me.”**

Then he fired.


	2. Swatter Calls

_2 hours earlier_

Two teenagers looked up as Team One straggled back into the station. “Another one?” Lance whispered to his sister, surprised. He couldn’t remember ever seeing their uncle and his team deal with so many ‘crunk’ calls.

“Guess so,” Alanna replied with a tiny shrug. She held up her latest book, sticking a bookmark in and setting the book down on the table. “Bet you Uncle Greg asks Kira to find out why they’re getting so many false calls.”

“No bet,” Lance retorted. He sighed. “I was hoping we could show them,” he admitted wistfully.

“You just want to show off your fishing skills,” Alanna jabbed.

Lance sneered at her oblique mention of his animagus form’s traits, but opted to ignore her. “Think of a name yet?”

“Mmm, not for me,” she confessed. Then she smirked, “But I think Illishar is perfect for you.”

“Illishar?”

The book Alanna had been reading was waved under his nose.

“A book? You want to name my form after a _book character_?”

A pert nose went up. “It’s either Illishar or Swiftwing,” she informed him primly. When she used that tone, he wasn’t going to win and he knew it.

“Fine,” Lance snapped. “You can be Flamewings.”

Alanna stared at her brother. “But, but,” she stuttered, shocked he’d turned her strategy back on her like that.

It was Lance’s turn to smirk. “It’s only fair,” he taunted. “After all, you named mine.”

Unfortunately, that was all it took for the siblings to degenerate into squabbling; squabbling that lasted long enough for Uncle Lou to show up and separate them. As Uncle Sam and Aunt Jules came in, the teens pointedly ignored each other, drawing several exasperated looks from the three adults. Magic or no magic, teenagers were teenagers.

Still, Alanna was not about to pass up on finding out what was going on. “Another fake call?” she asked, careful not to even look at her brother. Likewise, Lance pretended he hadn’t heard and wasn’t listening.

“Yeah,” Uncle Lou replied, “We just busted in on an old lady having her tea.”

Both kids winced; by now they knew what that sort of thing could do for Team One’s public relations. Unable to pretend he wasn’t listening anymore, Lance queried, “So what if you get another call?”

“We’re gonna figure that out,” Uncle Wordy put in, as he, Uncle Spike, and Uncle Ed arrived from the locker rooms. “You two squabbling again?”

“Yeah, they were,” Uncle Lou answered for the pair.

“I guess we’re all having a long day,” Uncle Greg remarked as he arrived, in time to hear Uncle Wordy’s question and Uncle Lou’s reply. The kids edged their chairs out of the way, still ignoring each other. Their uncle opted, for the moment, to ignore their behavior. Instead he turned to the team, lowering himself into a chair as he spoke. “I know it’s been a long ten-day shift. A few more hours. Let’s just keep it together, okay?” Moving on, his next topic made two teens prick their ears in interest. “Now, three swatter calls in a day. A little hinky.”

“Hinky?” Uncle Wordy echoed from his standing position at the foot of the table. With a touch of indignation, he went on. “Boss, it’s starting to feel personal.” Grumbles of agreement came from the rest of the team arrayed around the table.

“I hear you,” Uncle Greg sighed. “Kira’s trying to do some digging around, see if she can find a connection, but in the meantime, what do we do if we get another call? Any suggestions?” He looked around at his team, gaze intent.

Uncle Ed spoke up at once from his seat near Uncle Wordy. “If a real call comes in, we split up. We don’t want to be jammed up in the wrong end of the city chasing our tails, right?”

“That’s good: splinter unit,” Uncle Greg agreed. “Splinter unit for anything unconfirmed. Wordy, you’re in charge of that.” Uncle Wordy nodded acknowledgement. “The two of you ride along if it smells like another prank; the rest of us…” Uncle Greg considered a moment. “Let’s stay here on standby. Hit the gym, do target practice. Do something. Let’s get it out.”

“All right,” Uncle Wordy part-cheered. The team dispersed, leaving Uncle Greg with the kids.

He gave them a disappointed look. “You two have been squabbling for days. What’s up?”

They both squirmed under his gaze, neither meeting his eyes.

Uncle Greg sighed. “Okay, whatever it is; it’s _over_. No more squabbling about it unless you want to lose some privileges. And for the record, staying _here_ while we’re on shift _is_ a privilege.”

“Yes, Uncle Greg,” Lance acknowledged quietly. Alanna merely nodded, still not looking up.

When there was no further comment, their uncle gave them another warning look, then turned to his paperwork.

* * * * *

Ed trailed Wordy and Lou as they gave each other a good natured jostling over the idea of parking lot hoops. He was about to add his two cents to the banter when his phone rang. He dug the phone out, checked the caller ID, and took the call. “Hey, Clark, how you doing, buddy?” His son was near frantic, almost babbling. “Look…” Ed tried to break in. “Look, slow down, slow down.” Clark slowed down, but still made little sense. “Just…no, just start from the beginning. Clark?” With a deep breath, Clark did as he was told, starting from the beginning. By the time he was done, Ed’s blood was boiling.

With a hasty farewell to his son, Ed returned to the briefing room. “Boss, I just got off the phone with Clark,” he announced, his boss looking up as he spoke. Two curious pairs of eyes swiveled from their respective books to the two men.

“What happened?”

Still angry, Ed’s beginning made about as much sense as his son’s initial babbling. “Some guy came up to him on the street, started talking junk about me, about how this is war. Don’t blame him, blame me.”

With a calming gesture, Greg waved his team leader to a seat. “Eddie, sit down. Sit down.” Once Ed was sitting and looked a bit calmer, Greg asked, “Is Clark okay?”

“He’s okay,” Ed confirmed, grateful for that.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Greg remarked thoughtfully, “But why don’t you go anyway?”

“You sure? I was gonna ask…”

“Yeah, we’re covered,” Greg reassured the other, “It’s slow. You’re going on vacation.” With a pause, a grin, and a wink, he added, “You are going on vacation, right?” In the background, Alanna giggled.

Ed gave both teens a brief smirk. “I’m going on vacation, yeah.”

“So, go see your son,” the Boss ordered, “Get out of town before the traffic hits.”

“All right, be safe,” Ed countered as he rose. “I’ll see you.”

“All right, have fun,” Greg called at his departing back.


	3. Sniper at City Hall

Less than ten minutes after Ed had vanished to the locker rooms to change and leave on vacation, the alarm went off, whooping and blaring. Greg spotted the looks his _nipotes_ traded and wondered much the same, was it another prank?

“Team One, hot call at Nathan Phillips Square. Repeat: hot call.”

Jules, sitting next to Sam in the workout room, the pair of them whispering, called, “That’s City Hall, boss.” Greg nodded; although he hadn’t appreciated being lied to earlier and he’d have to talk with _both_ of them about their conduct, this wasn’t the time.

“I hear it…” He strode forward, angling for Kira’s desk. “Kira?”

Kira, well aware of what her boss was asking, replied, “Reports of shots fired. Multiple witnesses.”

“Not a prank?” Greg pressed, voice rising a bit.

“No, sir,” Kira confirmed. “I’ve got Inspector Stainton on the line.”

Eddie, hurrying out from the locker rooms, called, “Let’s see what’s going on.”

Greg took the handset Kira offered, and, lifting it to his ear, asked, “Inspector?”

The tension and well-hidden fear in the Inspector’s voice was the last thing Greg needed to settle, in his own mind, that this was no prank. “Sergeant,” Stainton said grimly, “we got one serious situation here.”

“Tell me,” Greg requested, already shifting into negotiator mode.

“One injured: City Hall security guard’s been shot in the leg, and we’re pinned in here real bad.”

Greg’s free hand shaped into a gun and he mimed firing it so Eddie would know what they were dealing with. “How many shots fired?”

“Three, four… They’re coming every two minutes. Honest to God, we don’t know where they’re coming from.” Some of the panic was leaking through, but with a sniper on the loose, Greg didn’t much blame the man for being scared.

“You clear all the civilians, four-block radius?” Best to stick to essentials and give Stainton something else to do or think about.

Frustration rang in the reply. “We’re doing the best we can. It’s summertime in the city.”

Summertime, meaning tourists, families, and all sorts of people outside, enjoying the sunshine and the sights. A containment nightmare. Before Greg could reply, he heard a gunshot through the phone. Screams rang out in the background as the nearby civilians panicked.

“Greg,” Stainton half-demanded, half-pleaded.

More gunshots sounded over the line, shooter was active. “Okay, we’ll be right there,” Greg reassured the Inspector. “Containment is the priority. I’ll call you back in three.” He hung up, already snapping out orders. “Kira, call Team Four. All hands on deck. Keep an eye on the kids.” Kira was already following her orders as Greg moved away, taking the vest Wordy offered. “Eddie?” Ed grabbed his own vest from Wordy and followed.

“Trucks are loaded,” Wordy called as he handed over the vests, moving even as he talked.

“Okay, boys, let’s keep the peace.”

* * * * *

All squabbling aside, the two teens were more than a bit disgruntled at being left behind. After all, hadn’t they handled both Alanna’s kidnapping and being trapped in the briefing room? Why should they be left behind with a dangerous shooter on the loose? They could _help_ , they could intervene, as they’d done before.

Still rather unhappy, they left the briefing room and dragged two rolling chairs over behind Kira’s desk. The blonde smiled at them, but kept her focus on her work. Behind the desk, the siblings could see and hear pretty much everything Kira could. It wasn’t the same as really _helping_ , but it would do…for now.

* * * * *

The SRU hurtled toward City Hall, sirens wailing and clearing the way. As they reached the square where several patrol cars were parked, lights flashing, they rounded up the trucks as if they were old time settlers rounding the wagons for a defensive line. The command truck, the largest and most armored of the four trucks, took the central position, the other three trucks acting as the sides in the rough half-moon shape the team formed. The team was careful to get out on the ‘inner’ side of the trucks, never presenting themselves as targets for the sniper.

“Keep it close to the car,” Lou called.

“Let’s get some shields,” Wordy added.

“Heads down,” Sam chipped in, as they opened up the backs of the trucks and retrieved their gear.

Wordy looked through the windows of the truck, observing, “They’re pinned behind the car.” Perhaps eleven meters away, three figures were hiding behind a patrol car. Two patrolmen were crouched over a third man, who lay on the pavement clutching his leg. The injured security guard. The two patrolmen were doing what they could for the man, but it was clear Team One needed to get the injured victim out as quickly as possible.

Greg made a beeline for Inspector Stainton, asking, “How is the victim doing, Inspector?”

“He’s holding on,” Stainton replied, relieved that the cavalry had shown up.

Ed raised his voice, barking, “Sam, Lewis, Wordy. Let’s give him some cover. Get him inside so the EMT can get to him.”

“It’s been a nightmare,” Stainton told Greg, “we got no idea where these shots are coming from.”

“And how are we doing on containment?” Greg queried.

“We’ve evacuated all civilians into the underground lots, but you got people coming in and out of all these buildings.”

Greg concealed his wince. Nightmare was right, especially with all the civilians in the line of fire. This wasn’t going to be easy.

As the two men spoke, Sam, Lewis, and Wordy gathered up shields, one for each man, and huddled together, overlapping their shields for maximum coverage. As quickly, but as safely as they could, they made their way from the SRU truck circle to the exposed patrol car. The patrolmen lifted the injured man as their rescuers reached them and the group made its way back to safety.

Just as they reached safety, gunshots erupted again. Inspector Stainton groaned, leaning back against the command truck. “Shooter’s active,” Ed announced.

“Like clockwork, every two minutes,” Stainton added.

Ed raised his voice, yelling, “Lou?”

“I’m on it,” Lou yelled back, already hefting an odd device. It was an orb on a pole, with microphones attached to the orb and a cone shaped protrusion on the top. He set it in place on top of one of the trucks, bracing the pole’s legs under the truck’s luggage rack. “Acoustic locator’s gonna nail his position as soon as he shoots again.”

* * * * *

The figure on the rooftop watched through the scope of his sniper rifle at the activity below. He was tall, as his father had been, with black hair cut close to his scalp. It wasn’t a buzz-cut, but it wasn’t much grown from a buzz-cut either. The man’s normally friendly expression was now a mask of concentration, grief, stress, and hatred. His eyes narrowed as he spotted his primary target moving behind the trucks, but with the massive black truck in the way, he didn’t have enough of a shot to risk taking it and scaring his prey away. The homemade ghillie suit he wore shielded the sniper from discovery, his rifle was shrouded as well. The barrel didn’t even glint as it swept back and forth, its master waiting patiently for his prey to come to him.

* * * * *

Grim, Stainton continued to brief Greg. “Beyond the security guard, there’s no other injuries. Thank God this guy’s not a pro.”

Greg kept taking notes, pausing briefly to point his pencil at Wordy, “Wordy, you get a look at the wound?”

“Yeah,” Wordy confirmed. “The exit wound’s lower than the entry.”

“Means he’s shooting from up top,” Ed observed.

With the initial on scene brief complete, Greg handed out assignments and observations alike. “Okay, it’s a target-rich environment that’s almost uncontainable. I got no one to talk down.”

“Any word from counter-terrorism?” Ed demanded of Stainton.

“No,” Stainton shot back. “I’m telling you, no chatter, no warning, no nothing. This guy’s come from nowhere.”

“Okay, Spike, you stay in the command truck. You run all the maps and intelligence. All information flows through you,” Greg ordered.

“Copy,” Spike acknowledged from his spot inside the command truck. With a tap of a key, the maps he’d already started accessing came into focus. “Okay, I’m looking at 300-meter radius on the 3-D. Buildings are dense. Lots of places he can be, lots of angles. We got to try to narrow it down. Find out where the shots are coming from. Locators are online, so we got ears. Let’s see if we can get any clues.” As he spoke, he tapped away at the keyboard, trying to narrow down some possibilities based on the injured guard and where the sheltering cars and trucks were parked.

Outside the truck, Ed had moved onto the next assignment. “Lewis, Wordy.”

Lou anticipated by calling, “We’ll do witnesses.”

“All right,” Ed agreed. “You press them for details. I need to know where that shot came from.”

“Copy,” Wordy replied.

Jules elaborated as she stood next to Sam, the pair of them behind a patrol car right near the SRU circle. “The way the victim fell, did he spin, did he crumple?”

Sam, wielding his rifle and scanning the rooftops, picked up the verbal baton. “Any visible shimmers, muzzle flashes, reflection, movement.”

Ed’s voice lifted to reach the pair as he yelled, “Sam, Jules, let’s break it down. It came from the south. We got a lot of options here. Where would you go?”

“Clock tower,” Jules opined, lifting her binoculars to check. “Classic, lots of shadows, good concealment.”

Sam’s opinion was a bit different. “Building under construction, lots of visual distraction…”

He was cut off as another gunshot rang out. The locator burst apart with a shower of sparks and metal fragments. All that was left was a sad jumble of wires and two sagging microphones atop a metal pole. Sam took one look at the result and ducked down for cover, Jules ducking down as well.

Behind the command truck, Greg sounded impressed as he took in the destroyed device. “Whoa, whoa, buddy must be lucky or he knows what a sniper locator looks like.”

Over Greg’s shoulder, Ed pointed out, “He’s located himself. Ricochet directly through the target to the point of origin.”

“The hotel,” Jules announced.

“Could be the roof,” Sam chipped in.

“Any of those top floors,” Jules admitted. “A lot of tinted windows.”

“Let’s start with the roof,” Ed decided. “Active shooter, we go to him.”

Greg moved over to the command truck’s door, opening it. “Okay. I’m gonna brief the chief. I’ll be in the truck.”

Ed moved over to the nearby SRU truck, opening up the back door and retrieving his own rifle. He rested the rifle’s stock on the roof of the truck, aiming upwards. While it was unlikely he would spot the shooter, he could keep his eyes open and be ready if he got lucky. At the front of the truck, Jules and Sam crouched, waiting for orders and getting their gear together. “All right, use the overhang for cover,” Ed ordered. “How many seconds from his last shot?”

“Sixty seconds,” Jules called, as she slung her backpack on.

“Sam, grab a shield,” Ed barked. “Let’s go. Go! Go! I’m going to cover you. If you don’t think you can make it, wait till he fires again.” The pair darted around the front of the truck, Sam and his shield in front and Jules on his heels.

“Copy that,” Sam confirmed over the comm.

“Spike, count us down,” Ed called.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six,” Spike announced as Jules and Sam hurried out from behind the trucks and moved as quickly as they could toward the massive overhang above the hotel’s twin driveways. “Five, four, three, two, one.”

Silence. No gunshot shattered the air. “Two minutes, right?” Ed asked.

“Copy. Over two minutes now,” Spike replied.

“All right, he’s breaking his pattern,” Ed remarked grimly.

Greg left the command truck, letting the door swing shut behind him as he raced over to Ed. “Maybe we’re getting warm.”

“Or he’s moved,” Ed countered.

“Where would you go next, it was you?” Greg queried.

Ed considered a moment. “Clock tower’s a no-brainer.” He nodded at one building in particular. “Right there. All those vents, visual distractions, clean view of the square, boss.”

“Okay, see it,” Greg agreed. He moved to Inspector Stainton, stride unhurried. “Inspector?”

“Yeah?” the Inspector asked, turning to Greg.

With a gesture in the direction of the tower, Greg ordered, “Clock tower-- lock up the whole southeast quadrant.”

From inside the truck, Spike called, “Copy that.”

“No one in or out,” Greg added. “SRU only.”

“Done,” Stainton confirmed. “We got a chopper coming in to sweep the rooftops.”

Greg shook his head at the idea, inquiring, “You want a long-range, precision weapon against a big noisy target?”

There was a moment as the Inspector absorbed that. “I’ll call it off,” he said quietly.

“Thanks,” Greg replied. He resisted the urge to shake his head again. A helicopter against a sniper? Talk about a one-sided fight.

* * * * *

Sam and Jules moved up the steps to the rooftop, careful to stay behind Sam’s shield and in cover. Over the comm, Ed asked, “Sam, Jules?”

“Almost there,” Sam called.

Hefting her submachine gun, Jules added, “Somebody opened those doors.”

“We’re thinking he’s moved,” Ed informed the pair. As their Team Leader continued to speak, the two Constables advanced onto the rooftop, watching for any sign of movement or for a trap. “But if he hasn’t, you’re looking at booby traps, ambush, suicide, suicide by cop. Maximum caution. Our friend hit a seven-inch target from 400 meters.”

The duo split up, Sam leaving his shield beside the doors. With weapons raised, they checked every area of the roof they could reach. “Roof’s clear,” Jules announced. “He’s not up here.”

Sam looked around and spotted brass glinting from the gravel on the roof. “But he was,” the blond sniper called, crouching down to examine the casings. His own sniper rifle was slung on his back, ready should the blond need it. Sam picked up one casing, placing it in moments. “It’s a .762. Carbon striations. He’s got an HK G3. That’s nasty. Shields are safe, but that’ll crack body armor.”

Coming up beside him, Jules observed, “This hotel has forty-three floors.”

“Stainton’s got uniforms sweeping the interiors,” Ed replied. “The rooftops are up to us. Clock tower’s next.”

“Copy that,” Jules acknowledged.

As the two left the rooftop, Ed’s attention turned to his other duo. “Wordy, Lewis, any luck with the witnesses?”

“Nothing we don’t already know,” Lou informed Ed, sounding a trifle discouraged.

“All right, move on,” Ed ordered. “Next highest building, City Hall, both rooftops.”

He could hear the sound of Wordy and Lou making tracks as Lou called, “Copy that. On our way.”

“Spike, get forensics up to the hotel roof,” Ed added, as he headed over to his Sergeant.

On his cell, the Boss told the person on the other end, “Right now we’re doing everything we can.” He paused a moment, “Yes, sir. Every step of the way. Yeah. Bye.” As Sarge lowered the phone and ended the call, he turned to Ed. “Hey, what a way to start your vacation.”

Ed could only nod.


	4. Revenge for First York

The figure strode toward his next building, clad in an SRU uniform and bullet-proof vest. Over his shoulder he carried a police issue duffle bag and he wore a plain black ball cap. His uniform carried a sergeant’s chevron and he moved with confidence and self-assurance. As he approached the entrance to the building, he barked, “Team Three, I need access,” at the two uniformed patrolmen guarding the entrance.

One of them made a ‘follow me’ gesture and said, “We kept the elevator open for you,” as he led the figure into the building. As they walked, the officer remarked, “What a scene, huh?”

The figure following him was silent, his expression placid.

“I don’t get it,” the officer continued, “I really don’t. I mean, what kind of person would do something like that?”

The figure moved past the officer into the freight elevator without a word, pointedly ignoring the officer’s words. He tapped the button to engage the elevator and turned back, finally speaking. “Thank you.”

“Good luck,” the officer called as the elevator’s doors slid down and shut.

Alone now, the figure swung his bag down and opened it, allowing his fury out from under the mask again. Efficiently, he checked his weapon, prepping it for firing once more. His prey might anticipate his move from his first perch, but he would not see his death coming until it was too late. The murderer _would_ pay; that was all that mattered anymore.

* * * * *

Lance and Alanna traded looks; while they wished they could have gone along, it did sound like Team One had things under control. The injured man had been safely retrieved, their family was hunting down the sniper, and things sounded as if they were going as well as could be expected.

Over the comm, they could hear as Uncle Greg and Uncle Ed started bouncing ideas off each other. Uncle Ed led with, “Tactically, we can’t do anything until…”

Uncle Greg finished the thought, “Until he starts shooting again. Okay, so help me out. Who is this guy?”

“Criminal sharpshooter. I mean, usually it’s military or law enforcement.”

“Yeah, but this guy doesn’t seem to be hitting his mark,” Uncle Greg observed.

“He’s trying hard not to, right?” Uncle Ed parried.

Uncle Greg agreed. “Dozen shots, only one injury-- what are the odds, right?”

“Hit the locator pretty good.”

“Okay, let’s assume he knows what he’s doing. Typical profile: tyrannical sadist, antisocial, wants to play God, wants control, wants to see innocent people suffer.”

The teens exchanged nervous looks. That sounded like a Death Eater to them. Except no Death Eater would ever use a tech weapon; such would be regarded as _beneath_ them, even without the magical world’s laws regarding using tech weapons. So, a non-magical Death Eater then?

“Except…” Uncle Ed argued.

Once again, Uncle Greg saw where the other was going. “Except there’s only one injury. Not much of a sadist.” Uncle Greg’s voice turned a bit thoughtful as he thought out loud. “Maybe it’s targeted. Maybe it’s revenge. Maybe it’s, maybe it’s personal.”

Two pairs of eyes locked on both ends of the comm. _Personal._

“That’s what Wordy said in the briefing room, right? ‘Feels like it’s personal.’ ”

“Three swatter calls, one shift. That’s a first,” Uncle Greg pointed out.

It made sense, it made a horrid kind of sense and the teens barely had to hear Uncle Ed’s grim, “This guy’s trying to wear us out. It’s urban warfare strategy. You hit the army when they’re tired returning from battle.”

The rest of the conversation flew over the two kids’ heads as they tried to wrap their heads around the idea that their _family_ was being targeted by someone willing to shoot innocents just to draw them in. When Kira reached out to turn the speaker off, she was hit by two high capacity glares. “That’s our _family_ out there,” Alanna hissed.

“We can handle it,” Lance added.

Kira met their eyes. She knew what the Boss would prefer, but with two sets of eyes half-glaring, half-pleading at her… Kira dropped her hand away from the speaker.

“Can we see a map?” Alanna asked suddenly.

“Why?” Kira inquired, wary.

“So we can get a better idea of where they are,” Alanna explained with a would-be casual shrug. She was careful not to give away the _real_ reason.

“Okay,” Kira agreed, bringing up the same map their Uncle Spike was using miles away.

Alanna studied the map carefully, tuning back into the conversation on the comms.

“…come from different phone numbers?” Uncle Greg was asking.

Uncle Spike’s normal cheerful tones were now matter-of-fact and business-like. “Yeah, but it sounds like spoofing to me.”

Twin confused looks were joined by Uncle Greg’s “Spoofing?”

The explanation was joined with a touch of sarcasm. “Seems it’s perfectly legal to impersonate another caller ID if it’s ‘for entertainment purposes only.’ ”

Lance and Alanna’s looks were now startled. That sounded like a loophole large enough to fly an Abraxan horse through. They leaned forward, listening to the file Uncle Spike played. Male, young, accent.

“They guarantee privacy,” Spike continued, “They don’t release clients’ names.”

The second file was a female voice, also young, and with an accent similar to the first. Suspicious looks were cast at the speaker.

“For a little extra, they’ll mess with the pitch of your voice,” Spike finished.

The third file played. Male, young, accent. Realization flared and two worried looks were traded.

“You hear that? Three voices, one accent. Eastern European?” Spike observed.

Uncle Greg had put even more pieces together than his charges had. “Ed. Personal. First York.”

“No way,” came the instant denial.

Undeterred, Uncle Greg kept going. “No choice. ‘It’s not me, it’s your father. This is war.’ How did Clark describe the guy at the bus stop today?”

Alanna clenched her fists, trembling. First York. _No…No. Not again._ Why couldn’t that day just leave them alone? Uncle Ed hadn’t done anything wrong, he’d just been protecting an innocent woman.

“Yeah, European accent, young guy,” Uncle Ed admitted.

“Eddie,” Uncle Greg pressed.

“No way,” came the still automatic protest, but softer.

“Call your family,” Uncle Greg ordered.

Uncle Ed gave in with a soft, “All right.”

Uncle Greg’s voice lifted, his words ringing clearly through the comm. “Team, listen up. We think we know who this guy is.”

Alanna bit her lip, clenching her hands harder. _You can’t have them,_ she thought at the distant sniper. _You can’t have my family. No matter what._

* * * * *

The order to lock down the SRU was very unwelcome for the two teenagers. They’d actually been very privately plotting their exit strategy so they could sneak out and help with the sniper. A lock down would just get in their way, but they knew better than to protest. At least aloud, though their complaints came through quite clearly in their expressions.

Uncle Greg was talking to Uncle Ed again, so the pair leaned closer to listen. “Okay, mid-20s, dark hair, ordinary-looking, spoke with an accent.”

“I know,” Uncle Ed confirmed.

“You shot his father.”

“He was close enough to feel the bullet fly.” Alanna sucked in a breath; they hadn’t known that part. “He took me to court for wrongful death,” Uncle Ed added.

“And he lost,” Uncle Greg pointed out.

“Yeah,” Uncle Ed agreed.

Uncle Greg’s attention shifted to getting more information. “Okay, Kira, Spike, I need you to pull up a wrongful death lawsuit. Last name: Tomasić.”

Uncle Spike called in first. “Copy that. I’m also sending out a photograph of the subject. News footage, First York.” The image that he found was flashed across Kira’s screen as well, letting two plotting siblings see who they were after.

Kira, typing away, had the next tidbit. “Boss, I’ve got his employment records.”

“Next of kin?” Uncle Greg queried.

“Goran Tomasić,” Kira replied.

“That’s his father. He’s deceased.” Lance and Alanna traded looks. That was one way to put it. “Any emergency contacts?”

Kira examined the records and announced, “Luka Boblic. Here, I got a cell number.”

“Okay, let’s get that guy here immediately,” Uncle Greg ordered. “Let’s send a squad car.”

In the background, the two kids could hear the Inspector approach and ask about progress. The response wasn’t just disappointing to the Inspector. Waiting until the next shot? It wasn’t something the kids particularly wanted, but they could see why their uncle had said that. Some things just had to play out, no way around it. All they could do was wait…and pray that no one died. Alanna, though, kept her head down. If anyone knew what _she_ was planning…well…they wouldn’t know, not until it was too late to stop her.


	5. The Baby Sniper

“We’ve got to find this guy now,” Uncle Ed declared, the kids on the other end of the comm in perfect agreement.

Uncle Greg’s own agreement came through clear in his voice. “Yeah, Spike found a photo. The guy’s name is Petar Tomasić. Quit his job two weeks ago, and no one’s answering the phone at his apartment.”

Judging from the change in background noise, Uncle Ed had moved inside the command truck. “Guys, subject is confirmed. Petar Tomasić. 26-year-old, Caucasian, dark hair. Sam, Jules, where are you?”

The sound of exertion came over the line. “We’re heading up to the clock tower,” Uncle Sam called.

“Sweeping floor by floor,” Aunt Jules added. “Nothing here, Ed.”

“Copy, Sam. Wordy, Lewis, what’s your 20?”

Uncle Wordy’s voice was calm, steady. “Clearing the mechanical room. Heading to the East Tower.”

“All right, keep talking to us,” Uncle Ed ordered.

Uncle Greg’s remarks came right on the heels of Uncle Ed’s order. “Eddie, Luka Boblic is here. He was on scene. You might want to listen in.”

On the other end of the comm, the two kids traded looks and gave their full attention to the speaker by Kira’s arm.

“Luka, this is Ed Lane,” Uncle Greg introduced.

Had the teenagers been present, they would have seen a young man the same age as Petar, with black hair in a crew-cut. Thick eyebrows hovered over brown eyes and Luka had sharp features and a cleft chin. Worry and concern was written across his face and his expression as he faced the two SRU members was unhappy.

“I know who you are,” he said to Uncle Ed.

“You know why you’re here?” Uncle Ed asked, the slightest of edges to his tone.

“Petar left a message on my phone,” Luka admitted. “I heard on the radio what was happening. I came down as fast as I could. No one would let me through.”

Uncle Greg’s tone was curious, no condemnation in it. “Petar left a message?”

The worry and concern blazed out of Luka’s words. “He said, uh, good-bye. I knew something was coming.” It sounded like he turned away from the two men as he inquired, “Where is he?”

“That’s just it; we don’t know,” Uncle Greg confessed. “So, let’s start with the basics, okay? Does Petar have access to a gun?”

“I-I don’t know. I… Last week, he told me he was thinking about getting a rifle from some guy, black market. I don’t know who. When I heard that, I-I said, ‘Petar, you do this, I swear I’ll turn you in myself.’ He… He told me to forget it. He was just kidding.” Luka’s voice broke with guilt and grief. “I believed him. I believed him.”

The two teens looked at each other, knowing that they would have made the same mistake in Luka’s shoes. Their uncle’s words backed that up. “This isn’t your fault, Luka. Okay, he made his own choice here today. But you can still help him.”

Luka’s voice rang with doubt for that sentiment. “He was…so angry at everything, everyone.” There was a pause and then Luka added in Uncle Ed’s direction, “He thinks you ruined his life.”

It was fortunate that Luka could not hear the angry hisses from the two kids at headquarters. Kira gave them a warning look and they piped down.

“Did he say what kind of rifle it was?” Uncle Ed asked, voice even.

“I don’t know,” Luka replied.

“Does he know how to shoot it?” Uncle Ed pressed.

Nothing…silence. The kids traded horrified looks.

Uncle Greg would not let Luka hold his silence. “Does your friend know how to shoot a rifle?”

There was another pause, as if Luka was gathering himself. Finally, “Snipers were how we protected ourselves. Petar shot eight men dead before he was sixteen.”

Lance swallowed hard; just like the Second War. Children fighting a war because no one else would; his and Alanna’s parents had been in that war, some of the few adults willing to fight against the Death Eaters.

“Croatia, it was a civil war, sir,” Luka explained. “Petar Tomasić was one of the best snipers in our country.”

“What happened?” Uncle Greg asked, though how he kept his voice gentle and calm, Lance had no idea.

“Petar got recruited by the local militia. He fought alongside his father against the Serbs. Everyone called him ‘Mali Sniperist’-- ‘Baby Sniper’. He protected our village.”

Uncle Ed must have left, for his voice rang out on the comm, firm and decisive. “Subject is a skilled sniper, familiar with urban warfare. If he was missing his mark, he was missing it on purpose. Guys, this is a revenge situation. Good news: We’ve narrowed it down. He’s looking for me. I killed his father at First York Plaza.” The two teenagers joined the angry, terrified silence. _None_ of them would let Tomasić get to their friend and pseudo family member.

Luka kept talking. “Two years, I was at school, he was hiding in the hills, fighting our enemies. Until they found out who he was. They didn’t come after him. They came after his family.” The kids traded looks again; this, too, they were familiar with. After all, the Death Eaters had gone after Harry Potter’s supporters and family in hopes of bringing _him_ down. “They tortured his mother and they killed her and… And he nearly went crazy. But his father saved him. They-they escaped through two countries on foot.”

“So, the woman that, um, that was shot at First York…” Uncle Greg queried.

“Stepmother,” Luka filled in.

Reluctantly, Kira piped up, “Boss?”

“Yeah, Kira?”

“You were right. Spoofing network confirmed all three 911s were routed through them from the same client. But they don’t want to release the client’s name without a subpoena. Want me to play bad cop on them?”

“No, thanks, Kira,” Uncle Greg replied. “I think we may have what we need right here.”

“Copy that,” Kira acknowledged. She didn’t notice the grim looks being traded back and forth behind her back. Child soldiers, the pair knew, were not to be underestimated. After all, hadn’t Harry Potter and his generation won a war three decades in the making? Hadn’t they beaten wizards and witches far older and far more skilled than they?

Uncle Greg’s attention was back on Luka. “Luka, if we can talk to him, we may be able to stop him from harming anybody else.”

“I know his cell number,” Luka replied.

“Thank you,” Uncle Greg replied. His charges scowled though. They knew perfectly well how strong a motivator revenge was. If they’d had half a chance to get at the Death Eaters who’d murdered their parents, well, there would have been a pile of bodies left behind them and they’d have gone to Azkaban instead of Toronto.

* * * * *

The figure lay in his second sniper perch, watching the activity below. Why was Luka here? And why was he helping _them_? His gaze returned to one of the men he knew, that he recognized, and hate flared again. The murderer might have pulled the trigger, but _this_ man had given the order. The coward who’d spoken to his father and only spooked his father further. If he had given Petar a _chance_ , instead of simply giving the command… He had been tempted, oh so tempted to decide on _two_ targets, but then he’d seen the girl…the little redhead who called the coward ‘uncle’ and she, she looked like his mother. So he would settle for the murderer.

His phone rang and he freed a hand to reach down and pick it up. He flipped the phone open and held it up to his ear.

“Petar Tomasić?”

Tomasić contained a snarl; the coward. He held silence, refusing to give the coward an opening.

“Petar, it’s Greg Parker with the Police Strategic Response Unit. Thank you very much for picking up.”

Tomasić still held his silence, but he did look through his scope at the clustered black trucks. The half-moon shape they were parked in was frustrating to the sniper, it meant he didn’t have as clear of a shot as he would have liked.

The coward wasn’t giving up, wasn’t even deterred by Tomasić’s silence. “Petar? Petar, I think, I think it’s important that we start talking.”

Grimly amused, Tomasić inquired, “Why?”

He spotted the murderer coming to stand by the coward and shifted, hopeful that he could get a shot.

“Maybe I can help you if I can understand what you’re looking for,” the coward babbled. Tomasić contained a snort. As if the coward would be honorable enough to surrender the murderer; they hadn’t even been honorable enough to acknowledge that his father had been _murdered_ , executed in a country where he should have been safe.

“I know what I’m looking for,” Tomasić shot back, letting his anger surface.

“Oh, yeah?” the coward asked, the false note in his voice infuriating his listener.

“Ed Lane,” Tomasić declared. “It’s Ed Lane I want.”

Just as he’d expected, the coward would not give him the killer, the _murderer_. “Okay, okay. Let me start working on that,” the coward lied.

With a scornful laugh, Tomasić repeated, “Working on that?”

The coward didn’t stop, he kept lying for the man standing next to him. “Well, yeah, he’s out of range. I-I got to track him down.”

“He’s standing next to you,” Tomasić retorted.

His first mistake, for the coward immediately dragged the murderer behind the largest truck. Tomasić swore to himself; while he might not have had a shot, now they knew he could see them.

Sure enough, the coward observed, “I guess you can see everything, huh, Petar?”

“Like you,” Tomasić sneered. “You can hear everything. You can see everything. Almost.” He hung up, focused on a particular spot. If the coward would not give him Lane… **“May God forgive me,”** he murmured in his native Croatian.

Then he fired and watched as the young police officer fell, dead before he hit the ground.

* * * * *

“Officer down! Officer down! Officer down!” rang out from multiple sources as the group behind the trucks stared at the fallen cop.

Inspector Stainton hit the side of the truck he was next to, furious. He whirled toward Sergeant Parker, his voice trembling with his anger. “Well, we waited till he shot again, didn’t we, Sergeant?” He pointed toward the fallen man. “That kid was twenty-four years of age. Fresh out of police academy.”

Parker’s own anger flared up. “You tell me how we could’ve prevented that!” he yelled, giving the attitude right back. “You tell me!”

Stainton got right in Parker’s face, jabbing a finger at him. “You want to call the chief on this? You call him, you explain it!”

As Stainton stalked away, Parker’s retort drifted after him. “No, no, I want to settle this thing.”

By the command truck, Ed Lane’s focus was on the job. “Confirm Team Four is containing east buildings.”

* * * * *

Alanna Victoria Calvin was furious, no enraged. When the shot had rung out, she’d clenched her fists so tightly, blood had seeped out. She hadn’t let go until Uncle Ed’s voice had come back on the comm, then she sagged in relief, he was _alive_.

She looked up at her brother and he gave her an encouraging look. With a quick gesture, she slipped off her chair and he followed her to the empty locker room.

“We have to do something,” she burst out.

“I know, sis, I know, but what?” Lance ran a hand through his hair. “The station is locked down, no _way_ Kira will let us leave.”

“There is a way,” Alanna countered and her brother spun, his eyes wide.

“No, Alanna, don’t,” he hissed.

Alanna shook her head. “I’m _not_ losing them, Lance, none of them. He can’t have them.”

Her form _blurred_ as she spoke and, as she finished, violet light swept over her, leaving a phoenix behind. The phoenix lifted off the ground, into the air, and swept her wings outward.

Fire ran over her, engulfing her and shrinking down to a fine point. Lance covered his eyes and when he could look again, Flamewings was gone.


	6. Flame of the West

Flamewings reappeared in a ball of fire high above City Hall. Despite the flames, she was too high for anyone to see clearly from the ground. With a high, trilling cry, she focused on her family down below, letting her power spill out to find them. Like struck crystal, seven pulses of magic sang back, reassuring her that her family was here and as safe as could be. She swept downwards, her head in motion, searching the rooftops with both eyes and magic. There was a lingering regret that her brother could not be here as well; his gryphon eyes were far keener than her phoenix ones.

But it could not be helped. The wind caught her wings, letting her soar high above the buildings, unnoticed by any humans below. She swooped by the clock tower, seeing and overhearing Sam and Jules’ discussion about the Tower Sniper. Interesting, yes, but not her purpose here and now. She flew on, but an idea occurred to her. If she could tap into the communications, she might yet take advantage of any intelligence her family could find on the matter.

So she landed on a perch far above where the SRU trucks were parked and flung her power downwards, letting her magic decide how to act. Much to her disgruntlement, her magic did not, as she had hoped, ‘tap’ into the communications, but she did and could overhear Tomasić’s friend and her uncle talking.

“You know what? He’s not answering. Luka, you mind calling him on your own phone?”

“No,” Luka replied.

Uncle Ed protested at once, “Boss, Boss, the subject’s already volatile.” Though he pulled Uncle Greg to the side, Flamewings could still hear every word. “You sure we want to bring in a third party now?”

“Yeah, we’re out of time.”

“And you think the kid can talk to him?”

“No, but he can keep him on the line long enough for Spike to get a lock on where he is,” Uncle Greg said flatly. Above him, Flamewings gave a soft trill of approval.

Her uncle strode back to Luka, already talking to him. “Luka…Luka, if you get him talking, think past his plan to the bigger picture. You said you were like brothers, right?”

“Right,” Luka agreed. One tendril of magic curled around the young man and Flamewings took to the air again, determined to find the sniper before he could hurt anyone else.

As the phone rang, the phoenix flew high, searching with both eyes and magic. Her magic translated the words she could not understand into Narnian, which her magic, and therefore she, _could_ understand. “Petar,” Luka cried as soon as his friend picked up.

**“What are you doing with them?”**

Luka started to reply in Croatian, but Uncle Greg’s soft, “English,” made him start over.

“What good is this going to do?” Luka demanded.

“You know what they did,” Tomasić wailed, grief in his voice. Flamewings hardened herself to it; she would not let him visit his grief upon them. “You know what I have to do. He promised it’d be different here, but it’s not.”

Her magic sang, guiding her in and letting her spot the grieving man in an SRU uniform. She trilled her outrage that he would dare wear _that_ uniform. **“No more shadows. No more hiding. No one waiting to shoot you. I got used to walking without watching rooftops.** I got used to not being afraid.” Against the phoenix’s will, she felt for him. Fear, too, was something she knew. Perhaps the largest difference between them was that _her_ parents had been murdered by criminals and _his_ father had died for being a criminal.

“You don’t need to be afraid,” Luka replied. “They told me no one will be hurt.”

High above, the phoenix cringed, knowing all too well what the sniper’s response would be. **“That’s what they said.** That’s what they said before he shot my father. Tell them I want Ed Lane to come out. Or more people will die!”

She saw him throw the phone away, saw him leave the rooftop. She landed, letting her magic curl around the fleeing sniper. He could not hide from her, not anymore. She let her magic pull away from Luka, regret in her heart. If only Tomasić had accepted his friend’s words, perhaps then Luka would have been right. They were not so different, she mused. If not for Uncle Greg, she and her brother might well have turned out like Tomasić, angry, bitter, grieving, and willing to kill anyone preventing their vengeance. But Tomasić had made his choice, as she had made hers. Someone would die before all this was over…and it would _not_ be her pseudo uncle, of _that_ she was determined.

Flamewings took to the sky again, following the sniper as he made for yet another perch.

* * * * *

The phoenix didn’t dare land as she spied his location and where he was already looking, already positioning for. She knew his target, knew it without even looking. Sam and Jules were on the roof he had been on; the rooftop he was even now aiming his rifle at. With every bit of speed she possessed and some she hadn’t even known she had, she flew like the wind back to the building at the southeast corner of Bay and Queen. With bare moments to spare, she spotted Sam and Jules splitting up, Sam running forward to the decoy on the roof.

With a fierce cry, Flamewings dove, fire already dancing around her. The flames rippled over her wings, the edges blazing a fierce violet hue. The fire raced from the tips of her wings up her wings, her tail igniting as well. In seconds, she was engulfed in the flames, her form hidden in the fireball around her body. Defiance raced through the wind as she shrieked again, drawing attention from both officers. Then she was there, racing along the rooftop, a line of fire in her wake.

Fire blazed behind her, rising above the line of the wall, easily twice the height of the platform the sniper had shot the rookie cop from. A shot rang out, but missed as the sniper’s target vanished behind the sheltering flames.

The phoenix rose sharply, her claws raking briefly against the wall in front of her as she climbed. Another cry, this one of triumph, split the air as she wheeled, circling above her own. Sam raced down the steps toward Jules, shield in hand. The pair dove for what cover there was, eyeing the flames with open fear. But the fire was phoenix made and did not spread from where she had placed it. It did begin to die down, giving the sniper more of a target and the sniper promptly tested the strength of Sam’s shield. Flamewings trilled her fury. She had protected her family, but now, they were trapped. Her magic shrieked in warning and she threw herself sideways and down, avoiding a bullet by the tips of her feathers. Regretfully, she flew down, out of range. Rescue would be up to the rest of her family.

* * * * *

“What the heck was that?” Sam yelled, eyes wide as he stared around the shield at the violet flames dancing a bare meter away from them.

Jules shook her head. Before she could respond, Ed’s shouted, “ _Status?_ ” nearly shattered her eardrum.

“We’re okay,” she called. She was about to call out again, when her ankle flared up in pain and she gasped.

“Jules?” Sam queried.

Jules ran a hand down her ankle, feeling it carefully and grimacing as it protested the exam. “Ed, I think I twisted my ankle,” she admitted. “Probably when I dove for cover and that whatever it was showed up.”

“You were yelling for us to get to cover and something showed up,” Sam picked up before any of their teammates could ask. “Looked like some kind of flying _fireball_ …it ran a line of flames right between us and where that shot came from.”

“Flying fireball?” Sarge asked, sounding bemused by the description.

Jules and Sam traded looks behind the shield. “That’s what it looked like, Sarge,” Jules confirmed. “I think I heard it shriek, almost like a bird.” She eyed the fire, then lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “And, um, the fire’s _purple_.”

“Purple?” Wordy demanded sharply.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “It’s not spreading either; hasn’t moved at all as far as I can tell.”

“Almost like…” Jules trailed off, drawing in a sharp breath. She and Sam stared at each other, realization flaring up, just like the flames that danced so close to them.

Wordy ran right over the newborn realization with his follow-up question. “Jules, you heard a bird shriek?”

“Yeah…” Jules replied, thoughtful. While it wouldn’t be the first time only one member of Team One knew what the kids’ latest trick was, it was usually _Sarge_ with the inside information. Did Wordy know _which_ teenager had just pulled this outrageous and dangerous stunt?

Wordy spat out a very uncharacteristic phrase and both constables jumped. “Wordy?” Sarge asked, sounding worried.

“That little _idiot_ ,” Wordy growled. “I’m going to turn her over my knee and make sure she _never_ pulls a stupid stunt like this again.”

Never slow, Sarge’s voice filled with incredulous horror. “Alanna?”

“ _Yes!_ ” Wordy snapped, still furious. “She’s…” Wordy trailed off and he must have whispered the rest to Sarge.

When the Boss spoke again, his own voice had the same cold anger that Wordy’s had. “Okay, we’ll deal with _mia nipote_ later, team. For now…Sam, Jules?”

“We’re fine, but we’re pinned down here,” Sam called. “Shots are coming from City Hall.”

“Copy that, we’re on our way,” the Boss confirmed.


	7. Final Confrontation

Greg pushed aside his anger at both the sniper and Alanna’s foolhardy behavior. Over the comm, Eddie sounded like he was nursing a bit of guilt; guilt that belonged to the sniper and no one else.

“Boss, this is about me. I come out, draw his fire, you get them out of there.”

“Negative. Negative. We do it as a team,” Greg shot back.

Eddie still sounded guilty, but his focus was coming back at Greg’s teamwork reminder. “Copy, Greg. Get them out of there. Spike, you and me, West Tower, City Hall.”

Parker turned to his two guys, lowering his goggles into place and ordering, “Low and tight. Lewis, you cover.”

“Yup,” Lou acknowledged.

The Sergeant hefted his shield, turning to the door. He crouched a little so that the shield covered his front completely. Wordy nudged him forward in a silent ‘Go’ signal. The trio entered the roof, Parker and Wordy’s shields guarding their front and Lou staying behind them. He would stay free to help Jules limp off the roof. Parker immediately spotted Sam and Jules huddled behind Sam’s shield, the line of purple fire just beyond them. The flames were slowly dying, as if their fuel had been the phoenix who had literally blazed her way into the hot call. Since they were dying and not spreading, Parker ignored them in favor of making his way to his two trapped constables.

* * * * *

Flamewings streaked across the sky toward City Hall’s West Tower, her focus on the sniper still shooting at Sam and Jules. Once she’d left the immediate vicinity of the building at Bay and Queen, the sniper hadn’t been able to keep her in view. She hissed as she hurtled upward at where her target was hiding. Uncle Ed and Uncle Spike had left the safety of the command truck and Flamewings was bound and determined to keep them safe from the hate filled sniper.

* * * * *

As the group reached Sam and Jules, Wordy yelled, “Stay tight. Stay tight.”

Lou lowered his weapon and darted to Jules, helping her up. She whimpered involuntarily as the movement jarred her injured ankle. “You’re gonna be okay,” Lou reassured her.

“Yeah,” Jules gasped out. “Let’s go.”

Wordy’s yell of “Go! Go! Go! Go! Go!” came right on the heels of Jules’ gasped statement.

Sarge and Wordy slid their shields in next to Sam’s and the five worked their way back, Lou and Jules in the ‘lead’, though they stayed close to their three shield-wielding teammates. Once they reached the relative cover of the massive air conditioner, Wordy let Sarge and Sam take over the shield duties and helped Lou lift Jules up and over the door’s threshold.

“We’re clear,” Lou called, still under Jules’ shoulder to keep her weight off her bad ankle.

“Come on, come on,” Wordy added.

Sarge was the next to lower his shield, hurrying inside away from the sniper’s gunfire. Sam backed through the doorway, keeping his shield up until he was all the way inside and completely out of the line of fire.

“Okay, guys,” Sarge panted out. “Let’s get Jules to the EMTs to have her ankle looked at.” When Jules made to argue, Sarge tossed her a minor glare. “Jules, we’ve got to get this guy now. Get your ankle looked at, we’ll go help Ed and Spike. And see if you can think up a punishment the kids will actually pay attention to.”

Jules made a face, but nodded. “Copy that, boss,” she said softly as they crowded into the elevator for the trip down. “Maybe we shouldn’t have let them get away with all the other stuff,” she mused, referring to the team’s habit of letting the kids help out with no real consequences.

Wordy ducked his head; he’d been the one to start that particular trend. But Sarge let out a sigh and, still speaking too softly for the transcriber to pick up, pointed out. “The first time was an option between letting them help or losing hostages. Alanna’s kidnapping isn’t her or Lance’s fault; no more than it’s my fault for forgetting to tell Kira they were at the station the day Danny showed up.” Sarge’s voice hardened as he continued, “This time though…we, _I_ , told them to stay with Kira and Eddie even ordered the station locked down. I’ll bet that’s why only Alanna showed up.”

“Huh?” Lou asked.

But Sam, their magic expert, had already figured it out. “Phoenixes can go anywhere,” he hissed, keeping his own voice down. “I’ve never heard of the stunt ‘Lanna pulled, but I’ve heard they can use some kind of fire travel. Even most wards can’t keep them in…or out.”

They might have discussed it further, but the elevator stopped and the door began to slid up and open. The group traded looks; they’d have to discuss things afterwards.

* * * * *

Flamewings shot over the rim of the rooftop, scanning the area for the sniper. She curved around and landed in a concealed area, flinging her magic outward. Two nearby ‘chimes’ told her that Uncle Spike and Uncle Ed were close by as well, hunting the sniper. The sniper was right above them, moving fast. Flamewings let her crest rise as she hissed. Trap, he was trying to lure them into a trap.

* * * * *

The EMTs surrounded Jules, whisking her away to check her over; they weren’t inclined to believe her only injury was her ankle.

Greg reined in the hovering Sam with, “Hey, got to let her go. We’re not done.” He resisted the urge to shake his head. Behavior like that was precisely why there were rules against dating members of your own team.

Lou, eager to get moving, called, “Team Four Sierra’s countering from the East Tower.”

Wordy held out the rifle Sam had slipped off to help support Jules better. “Sam, let’s find a Sierra shot.”

Sam snatched the rifle with a terse, “I got it.”

Behind them, Greg keyed his radio and announced, “Ed, we’re on our way.”

* * * * *

Flamewings trilled angrily as Uncle Spike and Uncle Ed split up. _No, no, no, that’s what he wants you to do._ She took flight, trying to angle in close enough to shriek warning.

* * * * *

Sam jogged to a handy wall, close enough to the West Tower to get a good shot, but with decent cover. He swung his rifle up into position, resting it on his arm to get a better angle. “Boss, I found a vantage point,” he reported, “I can see the mechanical room.”

* * * * *

Ed moved forward, scanning the area as he moved. A gap on his left drew attention and he spotted a platform. Even as he turned, there was a shriek of warning from behind him; a bird’s shriek. Before he could react, Tomasić had grabbed him, gun already pointed at his head.

“Petar,” Ed tried.

“For the first five minutes of _every_ day, I forget he’d gone!” Tomasić yelled in Ed’s ear. “Then I remember, and I see him die.”

Above them, Spike emerged and spotted the situation immediately, his own gun swiveling down in an attempt to aim at Tomasić.

“He’s got Ed,” Spike informed the others. “He’s got a gun to his head.”

Greg’s, “We’re on our way, Spike,” was comforting, but Ed knew they’d be too late. He swallowed, trying to figure out something to talk the other man down.

* * * * *

Flamewings shrieked her warning, too late. No, this _wasn’t_ happening. She hadn’t saved Uncle Sam and Aunt Jules only to lose Uncle Ed. The phoenix wheeled, struggling to find some way in, some way to help.

* * * * *

“Why did the fire bird protect them?” Tomasić demanded, to Ed’s surprise.

“Fire bird?” he asked. The gun was jabbed harder into his neck.

“Your teammates, I had them. The fire bird interfered, why?”

_Because she’s stubborn, like her uncle._ “I don’t know,” Ed replied, keeping his voice as cool as possible. Outside, he could hear the frustrated shrieks, hisses, and trills of a bird. Ed sucked in a breath and started trying to stall long enough for his team to come through. “You know what it’s like to do what you got to do to save your family, okay? I’m just…I just…”

Tomasić all but spat, “My family’s dead.”

“Okay, take a breath,” Ed urged, hearing the furious pants of the man behind him.

“You killed my father,” Tomasić cried, ignoring all of Ed’s attempts to slow things down. “He was all I had.”

“Let’s just slow it down here, buddy, okay?” Ed kept trying. “I need you to…”

“Tomorrow morning,” Tomasić spat, “for the first five minutes…” He broke off to pant a moment. “Your son will forget that you’re gone.”

Ed felt his heart clench at that statement. _Clark…you’re stronger than this, buddy._

“Sam, we need a solution,” Greg’s voice rang out, steady and clear, a lifeline for Ed to grab.

“I can’t get a clear shot,” Sam growled. “He’s behind the pillar. Ed, you got to move forward.”

Ed leaned forward, edging as carefully as he could. “I need you to listen to me,” he stalled, still edging. “I’m sorry, but I need you to listen to me,” _Alanna, get the heck out of the way._ “Please don’t shoot.”

The sound of the shot did not, could not carry far enough for Ed to really hear it. Part of him fancied that he had though, as Petar Tomasić dropped, his handgun spilling out of his hand; his revenge halted before he could carry it out. He looked down for a moment, managing a grim, “Subject’s down.”

He looked up, his gaze locking with Spike’s. Then Spike let out a visible sigh and let his weapon muzzle drop away. It was over.

* * * * *

“Not a good day for either of us,” Inspector Stainton observed to Sergeant Parker.

“Yes, sir,” Greg agreed, still mulling over what his punishment for _both_ his _nipotes_ would be. After all, it was very likely that both of them had planned to come, breaking the rules he had set down for their own safety. Alanna would get the worst of the punishment, for actually coming, but her brother would join her for his own part in the day’s foolishness.

Sam approached, already under SIU’s oversight for his Sierra shot. “Where is she?” the blond sniper demanded.

Greg repressed a sigh at the confirmation of what he already knew. The discussion, however, would have to wait. “She’s fine, they released her, we’re all heading back to the station. Get there when you can, okay?”

Sam nodded reluctantly and turned to follow Stainton.

“Sam.” Greg waited for his sniper to turn. “Good job.”

Behind Greg, Ed approached and made his own nod to the sniper.

* * * * *

Greg was about to pack up and leave when he spotted the EMTs bringing out the body. Beyond the stretcher, Luka Boblic watched, his eyes full of unshed tears. The young man tried to follow, only to be halted by a patrolman.

“Please. Please,” Luka begged. “He was my friend.”

“He’s cleared,” Greg called, coming over. “He’s next of kin.”

Luka’s eyes were locked on the stretcher as it was put in the ambulance. “What should I have said to him?” he asked. “What should I have said?”

Greg put an arm around the grieving man’s shoulders. “What?” he questioned, getting Luka’s attention. “Hey. You did the best you could do.” He paused to shake the young man a little. “Know that. You hear me?” Luka sniffed back his sobs as he nodded. “You know that,” Greg repeated. “That’s all you can do. Go on,” he added, pushing Luka to the ambulance.

He watched the ambulance pull away, sighing. _The best you could do._ No question about it, somewhere he’d fallen short, screwed up enough that the kids thought _they_ had to protect the adults in their life, rather than the other way around. Or maybe it was the fear they still carried; the fear of losing more people, more family. Disciplining them for saving lives was going to be hard, really hard, but it had to be done. Because the kids weren’t the only ones afraid of losing more family.

_I am too._

 

_~Fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And another story comes to a close. Thanks for reading.
> 
> The next story, "Trial By Fire" will start on April 4th, 2017.


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